Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Friday, December 16, 2016
Monday, December 12, 2016
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Live with an open mind or die young.
I think McNitt could have a big day today.
The simplicity of shallow sets can be useful enough at times for survival and shit, but in a life, the idea of a life, it's horrible. You see that you already faded out a long time ago.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
The Coopersmith Stories
-The Time Coop was in the Restaurant Taking a Leak and These Guys Playing that Laser Gun Tag Game Came in Shooting at Each Other
-Most People Whose Last Name Starts with Coop-- Will Probably Have Coop for a Nickname During Some Part of Their Life
-Cooper was my Favorite Farmer to Work For, His Wife Cooked the Best Dinners
-Why High School and College Boys Always Call Each Other by Their Last Names Like They’re on a Fall Guy Episode, Whereas Little Kids and Past 25ers Don’t So Often, Except for in Hierarchical Employment Settings, Crime Activity or When a Guy is Talking to Some Fucker He Knew From High School or College
…and other stories
Monday, August 29, 2016
The turn signals on those cars from the early 70s made vowel and consonant sounds, to me I heard 'Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln...' with a hold on the middle consonant , an up-down 2-pitch pattern. I was 4, I still never heard of the President but I'd heard people talk about the town, in the phone book too where they had all the towns within a few hundred miles. -- OK, I like that, that's good. But today let's try to talk about something that's more focused on what we discussed, back at the start, something that fits better in our outline.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
"I got in a car, rode with evil
Lookin at town ignorin the statues
Jumped in back and
Made us sandwich
Made me afraid so i missed half of livin,
Made me believe in the way life's done
Believed my pride proved in history books
And people excite me today lost their value value
Road got wider, sun scorched landscape
Life got skinny,
I asked questions, evil said it
Said im hedging,
Waiting for my angle cushion my impact
Said i dont empathy, short term sympathy
Hang my creds on a fluffy collar
Life as shallow as the edge of a dollar
Wish i could troll all,
Wish i could sequence
Can't do both em its one or the other
Spend half a lifetime choosin which one
Loose half a life on a choice of a branch
That ain't got branches, aint got choices
Ain't got nothing but voices
Tellin you shit about you ain't hurt.
Over easy eggs on a giant enchilada. In the diner that was most crowded AND biggest I ever seen. My waitress was my stereotype, overflow of food and obscenity of wet eggs on top of a whole other meal was a stereotype of excess and freedom. I couldnt eat it all, no way. I took the rest to go, I tried to save it for awhile but tossed it next stop, it had been nothing but an exercise, no value in the arc of a drive long enough for fantasies to flatten back to their original shallowness" acrylic on canvas
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
On the bright side the only thing worse than working a job is making a resume and going to an interview so at least I don’t gotta do that no more. But when I think about it that my job’s gone flatline on me from when I started it probably up til I’m almost dead, just so I could paint or make art and shit, then I gotta admit ya, maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea in the world and it never hurts to do a little evaluating on what you done with your life, but if you already know no other alternatives are gonna dawn on you then there ain’t any use thinking about it too long
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Shelf 1: Cool
Shelf 2: Afraid, Consumerness, Locked black box (of calculations, natural states, logic and other vague things), goal of healthy mood, but strategiless, mortality and brutality perceived, intermeshed
Shelf 3: String of vocabulary words for berries from a language place where a lot of kinds of berries are used often
Shelf 4: The parts of body and angles from which you can't see without more than 1 mirror
The appraisal is, a person goes here, then over there, there's more gaps than not so it's hard to speculate on functions or purposes of the efforts. Feel that it's reasonable to question the value of the efforts' engagement in the first place, the drive, as they have little effect on the inventory or its coherence
Friday, July 22, 2016
Monday, June 27, 2016
A fucker getting transfigured cause he saw jeans shorts cut off so part of the ass shows and a certain face he likes and he's too dense to suppress possessive jealousy and shit that you get with the little obsessions over people you can't have touch or get sympathy from
Friday, June 24, 2016
Is Essay: something slack in a discipline where you can work with precision...or: the most disciplined achievable in precisely a discipline where you can’t work with precision? A new essay: 'The woman, short hair, chewing gum used so much exposition that the movie’s dumb, or because the movie’s dumb, then I got kicked in my nuts and rolled around. To disambiguate: the common ancestor of the consciousness of anxiety was born. All this is not to suggest that the issues, the human misery would’ve necessarily developed with a different face, but one has to wonder how they would’ve voted.' See? You can take away the customary logical structure of content and customary cadence and all the academic formulas, the routine, it’s still a written essay, everything written is an essay.
Monday, June 13, 2016
There’s more where that came from. Janet, how could you? The car overheated on the freeway – and Roper’s niece?- on the living room couch. I have this friend that owes me a favor. If you need me I’m right out here. Get it on top – I can’t. I’m sure you’ll find your Paradise Towers someday. Tripper! See, nothing’s going on, just like in our apartment. She had these great...Danes. I’m gonna kill Larry. Uh, Greedy…I mean Gretchen. You Are So Beautiful, that’s my favorite song. OK, it’s gonna be a right cross and it’s coming now. No, Elmo don’t go in there! A dollar for three but this one’s on me. The Duchess! Mr. Furley? - Aunt Becky?! What is a Jack’s Bistro? Thank you for that wonderful lie. Well I never... -and you probably never will. Oh, I’m sure nobody saw that show - hi Mom, how are things in San Diego? Listen here shorty. Any more noise and you kids are out! I think you should do it – what!? Janet! Honk if you like what you see -hey Larry, honk honk. And Chrissy, try to cut down on the low cut dresses – gee, they’re already cut down about as far as they can go. JC the boss was a woman, Jack poured the food on wrong person, a guy, food critic that was gonna review him, Jack and Chrissy just hanging a shower curtain, stretch it - I can’t, sounded like something else from outside the door, Roper called Jack a real man’s man, Roper looks at camera, ie the TV viewer sometimes after cracking a joke, Jack learned how to tie knots in the Navy, tied sheets together to climb out bedroom window to escape diamond mafia waiting in living room, accidentally dropped end of sheet-rope out window while sliding it down then froze, winced and spazzed out, cardboard in the cake, turns out ruining party was wrong idea, ran through party and knocked cake out of everyone’s hands before they could eat it…….The camera shot of the living room, it looks like where a FUCKING TV set would be, facing them, back to viewer, against a back wall which would be in front of TV viewer, but no sign from the show they had a God…Damned….TV!!!, as far as I remember. Nice apartment, no life, full underachievers, they would be socially dumb now, old sitcoms made working class look like the stoic part of life but they’re the salt of my ass. They didn’t read anything complicated or know anything about world food, I think baked Alaska was a cultured thing back then. Morals were the base of the foundation layer, racy and faux progressive decoration on top and everybody thought it was crazy but it was so unrealistically moral and also stupid beyond my ass. Though, girls always dressed skimpy, Jack never appeared to get hard. Play, overacted flirting is all. All that fuss for nothing what a strange, what?…. Girls under-dressed or in night clothes is racy, no one got hard, it makes me hard, would make me hard, fucking what a fucking dick off time on TV while everything went on outside, someone was consolidating power somewhere and someone else was figuring out how to climb aboard. What a fucking bitch. What a fucking rod in my ass. Just like that, without transition and without there having been prefiguration I’ll change the subject now to a literary author reminiscing ca 1850 about childhood ca 1820s including his memory of a rumor in his town from 1713 to which he hooked a much more recent adult memory of himself reading the first-hand very different version of that rumor in a diary, adapted below from the Swiss German, from the literary author’s transcription of the protagonist’s notes, something of a religious correction slightly bordering on exorcism, translated closely but somewhat freely into English:
Today, Properly received from the noble and God fearing Madame M the cost due for the first quarter, right away receipted, deposited it, also dealt out and intensified the weekly correction with the young Meret (ie Emerentia) by laying her naked on the bench and punishing her with a new switch, not without lamenting and sighing to the Father that he will bring this sad work to a good end. The young girl screamed miserably, begged pardon submissively and sorrowfully, but remained obstinate, ignored the hymnal that I held up to her to learn, so I gave her a breather, then locked her in the bacon storage where she whimpered and wailed but later became quiet until she suddenly started to sing and rejoice, no different than the three holy men in the fire oven, and I listened recognizing that she sang that same versified psalm that she had otherwise refused to learn but in such a useless and earthy way, foolish and simple like the singing of nursery and children’s songs so that I was forced to deem this behavior new mischief and abuse from the devil.
Further, A most highly lamentable letter arrived from Madame, truly an admirable and faithful person, she had wetted said letter with her tears, also reported to me the great despair of the Mister that things aren’t going better with the young Meret, and it’s such a great calamity that this so happens to such noble and famous lineage, and one could with all respect be of the opinion that the sins of the noble grandfather on the father’s side, who was a godless psycho and evil cavalier, are noticeable in and raking this poor creature, so that I have changed my treatment with the young girl and will now attempt the hunger cure. Also had my wife make a small dress of rough sackcloth and forbidden Meret from wearing any other habit, since this atonement dress becomes her in puncto obstinacy.
Today, Found it necessary to forbid the young lady all interaction and conversation with the farm kids because they all came into the woods with her and swam in the pond, she took off the atonement garment that I’d ordained her and hung it on a tree branch and danced and leaped naked before it, also incited her team to insolent derision and mischief. Considerable correction.
Today, Enormous spectacle and disappointment, came a big strong rouge, the young Müllerhans, to discuss Meret, who he claims he hears screaming and wailing every day, and I had to quarrel with him when the young school master, Tropf, also came over and threatened to take action against me, and pounced on the pathetic creature, embraced and kissed her, etc etc, so that I had him arrested immediately and taken to the provincial governor, still needed to negotiate with Müllerhans though he’s rich and violent. Would myself be tempted to believe what the farm people say, that the kid is a witch, if this opinion didn’t contradict reason, in any case the devil’s in her and has undertaken a nasty bit of work.
The whole week had a painter in the house, sent over by Madame so he can do a portrait of the young lady, as the battered family doesn’t want to take the creature back any more, just wants to have an image for commemoration in mourning and repentant observance, also for preserving the exalted beauty of the child; especially the Mister doesn’t want to give up on this idea. My wife gives this painter two quarters of wine every day, of which he never seems to have enough as he goes to the Red Lion every evening and hangs with surgeon there, and he’s a wound up character so I often serve him a snipe or small pike, which is to be billed to Madame’s account for the quarter. At first he wanted to play his persona and affability on the young girl and she even became attached to him so that I made it clear to him not to intervene in my methods. When her preserved habit and Sunday clothes were brought up and put on her along with the schapell and the belts she showed the greatest pleasure and began dancing, but this joy soon became embittered when I, on the mother’s orders, brought in and gave to her to hold in her hand a skull, which she absolutely didn’t want to take, so she held it from then on crying and shaking as if holding a flaming iron; true the painter claimed he could paint the skull from memory since that type of thing belonged to the most basic of his artistic subjects but I didn’t allow it since the mother had written: “What the child suffers, so we also suffer, and through its suffering we also have the opportunity for atonement, which we can endure for the child; therefore the righteous pastor should hold nothing back in care and education. If our young daughter one day, which I pray to the almighty and merciful God will happen, would in some sense be enlightened and saved, so will she undoubtedly be overjoyed to have put behind her a good portion of her penance along with her obstinacy, which the unfathomable Almighty has chosen to lay upon us!” - and these faithful words before my eyes, I have thus deemed the skull an opportunity to apply a considerable sum towards the penance due from the child. Anyways a small child’s skull was used, since the painter insisted that a large adult male skull would be too unshapely in the small hands for his artistic purposes, and she also preferred to hold the small skull; the painter also added a small white rose to the picture, which I could justify since it could count as a symbol of good.
Today, Received a counter-orders regarding the painting, and now am not to send it to town but keep it here, a shame regarding the faithful work done by the painter, as he was totally charmed by the allure of the child. If I’d have known earlier he could’ve added my own portrait for this price, with all the fine victuals that were added to the payment.
Futher, Orders have come for me to stop with all instruction, especially with French, since this is no longer seen as necessary, so my wife is also to stop with the lessons on the spinet, which seems to make the child unhappy. More importantly, I’m supposed to simply take care of her as a foster child from now on, so that she causes no problems with the public.
Day before yesterday, The young Meret deserted us and we suffered the greatest anxiety until today at 12 o’clock when she was spotted on top of the Buchberg sitting naked in the sun on her atonement habit and warming herself en bas. She’d completely braided her hair up and set a small wreath of beech leaves on top and also hung a scherpen around her body, also had a bunch of beautiful strawberries lying in front of her from which she’d already stuffed herself full, and when she saw us she wanted to bolt again but was embarrassed by her nakedness and wanted to pull the small habit over herself so that fortunately we were able to catch her. Now she’s sick and seems confused, no longer able to give sensible answers.
It’s going better again with the young Meret, but she’s changed more and more and is generally dumb and mute. According to the Medicus brought in for consultation, she’s becoming insane or dull-witted and needs to be given over to medical treatment; he offered his services in this, in getting the kid on her feet again if the treatment can be done in his house but I’d already noticed that Monsieur surgeon is only concerned about the good pay along with that which he could get from Madame mother and so I testified to what I saw as correct, which is that the Father now seems to be bringing his plans with this creature to an end and that human hands neither can nor should change anything here anymore, which is the truth.”
Five or six months later, This kid seems, in her dull-witted condition, to enjoy splendid health and has gained perfectly jovial red cheeks. Spends the whole day out in the beans now, where no one sees her and no longer concerns themselves with her, since she no longer causes headaches.
The young Meret has arranged herself a small salon in the middle of the bean field, so we’ve discovered, and has received eccentric visits from the farm kids there who bring her fruit and other victuals with which they so bury her and keep her in supply, and we also found the small child-skull buried there, which had disappeared long ago and thus couldn’t be restored to the custos. Such sort of incidents. Also attracted the sparrows and other birds and tamed them, which caused great damage to the beans and I can no longer access the stalks because of this little occupation, and has also played with a poisonous snake, which got through the hedge and nested with her. Eventually we had to take her back into the house and keep her there.
She’s lost the red cheeks again, and the doctor claims she won’t last much longer, I’ve already written to the parents.
Today, Before daybreak the poor little Meret must’ve escaped her small bed and crept out to the beans and passed away there, as we found her there dead in a small furrow that she’d burrowed into the ground as if she wanted to slip into it, totally ##, and her hair as well as small dress wet and heavy with dew, which also lay in drops in her almost reddish small cheeks, no different than on an apple blossom. We had a terrifying shock, I was in complete quandary and confusion when the Herrschaften had left town just as my wife had travelled to K to buy some confect and provisions to get things in order so that I didn’t know which way was up, there was coming and going, the maids had to wash and dress the corpse and also put together a good lunch, finally I had the green ham fried, which my wife had marinated in vinegar for 8 days, and Jakob caught 3 of the tame trout that swim up near the garden now and then even though the blessed Meret had long been forbidden to go out to the water but fortunately I put together a respectable lunch with this food and it was to Madame’s liking. Had been a great sorrow and we’d spent 2 hours in prayer and death watch and such, in melancholy discussion about the fateful sickness of the deceased young girl after which we had to accept, to our increasing comfort, that the sickness had its cause in a fatal disposition of the blood and brain, also discussed the great abilities of the child and her often clever and alluring ideas and impromptus, all of which however we were unable reconcile in our mortal short-sightedness. Tomorrow morning the child will be given a Christian burial and this due to the presence of the noble parents, otherwise the farmers might’ve opposed.
This has been the most amazing and most terrifying day, not only among those since we’ve had to deal with this most unfortunate creature but of which I’ve ever come across in my peaceful existence, because as the hour came, struck 10:00, we filed in behind the small corpse and proceeded to the churchyard while the verger rang the small bells, with little energy as it sounded almost pathetic, the sound was half drowned out by the wind which blew rudely, also the sky was totally dark and humid and the churchyard empty except for our small company, though outside the yard walls all the farmers had gathered and stretched their curious heads over, but just as they were ready to lower the small coffin down into the grave we heard a strange scream coming from the coffin so that we were scared shitless and the grave digger took off running but right away the doctor, who was also here, loosened the coffin lid and lifted it off and the dead child sat up alive and crawled perfectly nimbly out of the grave and looked at us, and as the sun pushed bizarre and sharp through the clouds she looked like a fairy- or goblin-child in her yellowish brocade with the small glittering crown. The mother immediately fell into deep unconsciousness and Mr. M crashed to the ground crying. I myself in my amazement and terror was unable to move and at the moment firmly believed that we were witnessing witchcraft, but the small girl had soon recovered herself and sprung across the churchyard and out into the village like a cat so that all the people ran home in terror and bolted their doors, and just then school was letting out and the pack of children were coming up the street and when they saw what was happening they couldn’t be held back anymore and ran after the corpse in a large swarm, followed it, and the school master jumped in behind with his paddle. But she retained a 20 step lead and didn’t stop until reaching the top of the Buchberg and fell down lifeless, after which the children crawled around her and stroked her in vain and caressed her. We learned of all of this second hand since we’d rescued ourselves into the parsonage house in utter urgency and persisted in intense desolation until the corpse was brought back to us. She was laid on a mattress, then the family departed leaving behind a stone tablet with nothing carved in it but the family coat of arms and the year. Now the child is again presumed dead and we don’t dare go to sleep out of fear. The doctor is sitting by her now and believes she is finally at peace.
Today, After various examinations the doctor has declared that the child really is dead, and she has been buried in private, and nothing further has transpired.
Friday, May 6, 2016
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Riding her fucking bike in the hills, chronological no-man’s land of middle age rude to her 30 years ago, still cringe, don’t know her, fictive. Living spatial harmony an illusion, grown to mature when experience teaches you that, good-for-shit logic had failed you there - and space gets tight, aging. Routine as anxiety suppressant, paranoia suppressant; routine well and you can love yourself like family. I don’t routine well, can’t hold a line, anxiety stays on, it’s mild. Nads itch, ass itches, can’t find right time to stop itching long enough to stop the itching. The thought of narrow space some day – long ride home on a mistake – trashed for your inhibition and forwardness in the same breath feeds guilty loneliness that suffocates late try at human connections and there’s nothing left but to tell them to fuck themselves and their time trend scripts for cool and leave you to daydream, the onset of chronological no-man’s land, spaces of the mind narrow, exterior space sells out, curiosity’s convolutions smooth, itch at the comfort margins to get by
Thursday, April 7, 2016
He devil and she devil wear a white speedo and boy is it neat-o. Your mom might print some flags for a hopeful struggling solar system and get in the history books. Harness dimensions to cure coming population crises but such discoveries likely applied to vehicles, most lines will die out, sad. My chinchilla pisses on the people.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Outside the chalet over near the slope waiting for the second coming, an assortment of family and holy hosts and surrealistic creatures, in the paper some high strung fucker said it happens today right now, the inane things that people do but there was nothing to do here anyway none of the sweaters or haircuts on a real vacation look like the 70s movies in Europe about spies or avalanches and movement’s got to be as routine as lying around, hollowness to look forward to afterwards vacations don’t always help. And it looks like snow in the north. The second coming of my big ass, the world goes on hopefully
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Don’t let em get to you, those fuckers, freed themself
of a custom or two but in the end all they did is made new rules anyway and rules is rules, custom or not. You don’t need that, you don’t do rules…get yourself a gold cat idol and girl with a fizzy gait vector and thick gooey conscience that doesn’t do cool, raise a no-function slab of colors that aren’t together out of parsimonious debate and go out where the distances are layered thick so a low incline road looks almost vertical…sensual fantasy in the outdoors is for old Greek books, for the intellectualizing and aestheticizing of it all but for the real senses and psyche nature’s already got gorgeous obscenity taken full care of, fantasy is for the indoors, a few fixation clues but blank space for the senses that wanted this all…eating in the outdoors is for manual labor, tomato, lettuce, & ham sandwich with dirt and sweat but sport amusement eating is for inside, textured, clammy, & variegated in excess of function is already full on in nature so picnics and sidewalk lunches are viscosity doubled up on viscosity. All of this…only until it all turns into a rule…out in the grass and hills, a gold cat cult, rest your psyche and senses off, when urges send you back indoors let em loose, trash some customs, keep some and sully them in goo as you like, or not, either way, any way, no way, it’s of no consequence anyway
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Here's what's still left of my baggage and complexes. I like to throw them at people with totally different ones - since our complexes aren't aligned mine hit them where they're confident making them less sure, and theirs hit me where I'm complacent making me feel jealous, insufficient - I can ignore a memory of a fake-brick linoleum floor, I can diss a challenge when I don't give a fuck, and me and my leftover complexes can sit in the row between asserting individual and inevitable cooperating social and hang with them all without having to decide for sure who I want to sit with
Monday, March 14, 2016
Missään tapauksessa can there be Love Theme From Kiss … Love Theme From Kiss … Love Theme From Kiss, Love Them From Kiss, nor there be ball … or be dope … or be vibes … or be guide from skeletal collection of notions … or needles stuck on the ass of a super rich fucker, no rich fucker’s ass stuck in the eye of a needle with crap in the needle’s eye … can be no crap on needles, no crush, no love theme in a positivist zone … be no fixed value outside sense verify matter, peace can mean needle, hard or easy, rich, minus, or out of bounds, mean nothing and anything including nothing in a positivist zone and fondness can mean I skipped down a sidewalk and a light shone on me, or a stove or a girl that smells like a cigarette, in a positivist zone… can never be made good on again, ei missään tapauksessa
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Hey tits, No reason, just car, just drive across the Florida border -no, it won’t look any different but for me, love new current-time references to a past projection of current can’t exist so desires, repressed or not logically can’t exist. "Bud - Bud - hey Bud" :What?" Fuck. Out. Flat, By a (Hain) grove, stand or lean on the car. Sun purple streaks are more past-subjunctive-not realized. "Bud, fuckin too. lets stop. hotel." crossing borders still feels like changing modes or states (physical ones) same as when a kid. Driving alone makes body numb makes horny feeling more closer to hair trigger not quite. hotel. porn, comical shot with rainbow color condom flipped in air slow motion before putting on had to go to can and wax off it took few secs. Don’t tell Bud. Didn’t. Now ok. Not at the time saw in myself pictures of resolution, sympathy a little, empathy so far away. Now my late 40s still empathy missing - so sad or maybe real, not sad. What kind of love they had abstract, Urich and Agathe. "Bud-Bud" "fuck you" "bitch" potato chips. He was afraid of the woman, misquote, he was afraid THAT the woman might. Missing is still. Naipaul must’ve been sexually self conscious about a body part I gather from the bit repeated about the fat jiggling calf, or maybe just lit descriptive? Too skinny narrow shoulders. "Bud." "Lets drunk." Back room. No.
I used to, we all did, act like someone we’re not, sure cliche, big success in personality grooming is when you stop doing that - first phase you do it - ie stop doing it - for show - then for real and then you are grown up middle aged. But as artist I’ve been assuming 10 years or so I need to learn to act - creating prose or vis art isn’t diary confession only - now changing mind again acting wrong need to go more essence of self direction - self or social idk yet. Often thought that everything I experienced was a toggling suggestion only, under the influence of imagination. The thousand year empire, No you can’t hoard experiences, they’re more like eating than I thought. You keep needing new ones. Science says so too - I read that on FB this week. SO the idea that experiences and desires unfulfilled is a force now - wrong it doesn’t matter how much or how barren you had it - you can’t eat for a lifetime in one month, shit too, no - and himself too, myself too, not only the vision that’d seen it and the memory that’d remembered but the clothes too, as garments carry back into the clean edgeless blowing of air the lingering effluvium of a sick room. What you’re afraid of has so much power that it paralyzes the drive to inhale the environs of a short life.
The human urge to pair up (Böll) moves from love-attraction on sight - on past the spontaneous desire to be with (her) to the most intense primal passion which creates restless souls and bodies - all of its variants - which arise as irregularly as they do lawlessly, every one of them could’ve been aroused by Lenni - at 17. (Böll)
Burn in the throat and film in mouth over all surfaces gradual increase over two decades, now it’s normal. Ok, no organism gets through life physically oblivious and untouched from nature and self preservation process, moderate but only where outcome positive in self-environmental balance. Take it up the ass if it’s calling just let it make sense. Fuck yourself all you want. That doesn’t necessarily mean loneliness. When I drive home I want to wack it, that’s when I’m not obsessed with not getting in a wreck. It’s such a trip to discover, after thinking everything you do is a crime, that almost everybody else is culpable, embarrassing, guilt, immoral, etc, by the standard evolved in the name of tradition, expectation, rulings, judgementalness, etc. - but, I keep re-wondering about absolute values and if I’m falling behind - no - fuck you I’m not - absolutes are in math and other theories - not in analog nature. And you can suck my dick on that one. And to justify the whole - no - to complement - I remember, I was in Greenpoint this one time on Nassau and way out by the BQE - and I got this Polish bakery stuff - it took me a long time to choose - no credit minimum I’m out of cash rest of month - so picked a billowy bread loaf - and said ¨oh my mother bitching stars¨ I think this was a waste of energy - bc, I walked form Clinton Hill to Queens to Nassau Street - I said I’ve failed. Bread with cheese in the middle.
Now it was like that though – what wasn’t there you had to - no, could - drive 200 miles, distorted expectation at an age where irrational interaction with the biological wasn’t developed (well well well Tubs) enough yet - near xmas time. Misty wet cold, trading football cards - the QB card - Dallas not the starter I never heard of him, the visual, full body in action scene, mud on uniform (white away uniform) overcast atmosphere - art. Afraid of alone, not spirits - even if awareness of biology organism still underdeveloped, rational was already intuitively settled - but influence of common half belief in angels’ proximity too strong so I was scared alone, ghosts ancestors Indian and Anglo. What load of crap - to think of the energy wasted, my cock. The closet - a dead relative I never met. "Deflector shields" "Where, where?" "Fuck the shields?" “Never mind.” If you still ain’t resolved the above kind of things you’re useless in a sociological (humanly soc) world, but still maybe not worse off than me. Depends on your non-denom faith or idk what. A future past reference to a present future incident or state is logically impossible, therefore hopes, dreams, etc, in the non abstract sense, the concrete state, can’t exist.
Gain in precision what I lost in recall. Better decisions but fruit fell so many things are over. I loved all that even though it was largely unsubstantial - it’s the act of loving - and/or childish excitement that is substantial. Now there’s new more intense conceptions and expectations of loneliness and/or claustrophobia. The addition of lack of control makes them not only more real but more threatening and prevention more dire. And that prevention-need causes restrictive thinking, irrational (fear) decisions and under achievement. So that I wish I was a machine. Ma-boobies. Emotional discourse with useless concepts, mostly visual natural phenomena acting on material substances or [ang?] on snow and such. But I saw my football cards and sorted them repeatedly by various categories. But actors act and I lose. Perform, no. Wait, and so lose. The material is evil, makes you ponder on insubstantiables. Acting and performing feels good if you know how. I feel better everyday during the last 4 years or so. The sociological world is a correctional mental institution so just live in it, it’s therapeutic.
It must’ve been the lipstick. It must’ve - no [I] mean logically would have meant - the lipstick - my Hurt haircut - cut my ear - get a date? Not considered a possibility you shit.
You´s bullshit man, bullshit!
Look at that cornice decoration, up, the window. It’s one thing to look at it - like in a foreign city - you see the street. Set stage, you own a time and place, it seems only, because it’s new - someone lives here a long time, doesn’t feel, doesn’t think they want, possession, but, they do have, and want, possession. That all, that’s one thing - but / for posterity - a type of ownership / of life - need looking IN the window, with you in the window / documentation that you own[ed] a place, and experience. Yes, / critique today is, what it always was: 50 years behind./ and says / what it had always said: earlier in the past, it was / but no longer so.
"Buy you a drink" is such contentlessness, it means social bluberdy block into maps - nothing everybody buy your own drink - you know what you want to drink. Ass.
The waiter left, and Tamara became silent. The youth and even the sun brown skin, that Herman had noticed when he came in, seem to have faded. Shadows and the first signs of puffed-aged eyes were noticeable under her eyes. ¨Have you seen this boy?¨ she said. One more minute and would’ve been a pile of ashes. Tamara laid on the bed and Herman was resting on the Clapp-liege.
"Because I find that comforting – who do nice things, everywhere. Clinton, I’m gonna ask you something - what I wanted to ask you earlier. Can I? Of course. You’ll tell the truth? Good, yeah. It’s about your diary. You’re writing what I say, right? Sometimes. OK, then when you read it again, do I come across as a dumb woman? No. I don’t think that I’ll have nightmares often about Echo, about the accident, about Berry-berry and the tree. People dream things and cry a lot and shit, and then gradually they don’t cry about such things so much. Of course I ain´t no specialist. I’m only writing based on my own experiences.
How many times do I have to watch this fucking bull drag its crank across my tv screen? D.M. on M.L.
Kopenhagen in the spring, Paris of the north, but empty as the moon, not a single Dänin appears, a life in Kopenhagen must be unbearable, but the main thing is that she has recovered. Kopenhagen also rainy, no news about Philemon, on the other hand, a lot of Lela - delayed a trip to Hamburg out of understanding, sympathy - exclamation marks, hope for a Gastspiel in München. Question mark, hotel four season, sometimes this letter rushes thru Copenhagen and gets lost before a message arrives, but the person, a ghost who wants to take its own life, thus fake address, time, advice comes, much clever about film comes, agreement across 1000 miles, Kopenhagen is a metropolis, but the only person that understands is in Kopenhagen and the way to the main post office, where nothing has arrived in days, seems to be lined with no houses.
A: Isn’t it a little bit early for it?
B: For what?
A: Both beer and Schweinebraten
B: Not for me
A: I noticed that
B: What it’s too early and too late for is only object of social agreement or, let’s say it like if it’s ok that such total morons breakfast here till 5:00 pm then it should definitely be ok to order Schweinebraten at 11:00am
A: I’d prefer to put it the other way around. Since the world is so full of assholes who breakfast till 5:00 pm, then why do we need big shots that eat Schweinebraten at 11:00am
B: What’s the big deal about making Schweinebraten? It’s there left over from yesterday anyway, so you just cut a piece off, a little cold sauce on top and into the microwave, I know how it works, don’t need to fucking tell me.
A: Ah, so, don’t need to tell you
B: No, don’t need to tell me.
A: And if I told you there’s no Schweinebraten here left from yesterday? What then?
B: Then I’d say that OK maybe it’s only quarter after 11am but from now till 12:30 the normal lunch time bullshit lets loose and then you’ll need Schweinebraten anyway.
A: And if I told you that I’m also not from yesterday, and that the Schweinebraten is already in the oven, and that it still needs an hour, and that until then you can also have at best a shit breakfast like all the other losers here - all these roll munches with their shit wurst and their shit cheese and their whole pile of shit that’s put on tables here, so - if I told you that at best you can have any such crap and that, if you´d like to eat Schweinebraten then maybe about 12:30 – when, as you seem to know, the lunch time lets loose, you’re welcome to come calling again, but politely please, and then maybe you can have good proper Schweinebraten, if not the Schweinebraten of your life, but by then you might be too drunk to even notice - if I told you that what would you say then? smart ass fucker.
B: For example, I’d say, if I were so asked, that things here on Sundays start off at 10:00am and that the kitchen staff, of which you are certainly a part, is definitely already here at 9:30, and that, if you prepare a Schweinebraten at 9:30, then the Schweinebraten must definitely be far enough along that one could cut off a piece, and fuck the crust, not to even mention the dumplings, fried potatoes are also ok and you have fried potatoes on hand anyway for this American breakfast, so, that the Schweinebraten would already be far enough along that a small piece even if it’s just the edge could be cut off for me, doesn’t matter if the crust is crispy, I couldn’t give a shit about that, anyway I think the crust is overrated - that someone could throw in a few fired potatoes, you can always find some sauce somewhere, and the dish is complete - that’s what I’d say, smart ass fucker that I am.
A: OK, so, the crust doesn’t matter.
B: No, the crust doesn’t matter at all.
A: To you in general?
B: I couldn’t care less about IN general?
A: Are others here like you?
A: Well, then ok
B: OK then I’ll wait a little while. It’ll be 12:30 soon.
Among people pigeons
Pigeons in circles like cyclone out the window, what is it with windows - windows, what is it windows memory and melancholiness don’t even need to imagine the trajectory, can see it. What was it I thought I could see out a window, pigeons in a cyclone pattern and brown buildings in November late afternoon sun? It’s nothing. Only actions and reason are substantial.
Realize tendencies, wishes, plans - make possible this seeking of leisure places without losing their distance - with the ability to construct sentences as they believe sentences should be constructed as Robert builds sentences while he effortlessly speaks them. Then again unusually short sentences, which restore the balance of thought, speak in uninterrupted control of reason and the body in relation to the central focus, bring observations to silence, obvious, make oneself real with still-full consciousness. T.B.
I wanna know, how many people here like to take a taste of alcohol! I know it always gettin so hot outside and you always need something to cool you off, there’s gotta be some people out there that like to drink tequila.
A greeting card from Hölderlin
The pleasures of life I have tasted in full
The hours of youth past so long, so long ago
June, July and August long since gone by
I’m nothing anymore, no longer care to be alive.
Basically, from whatever vantage point we view it, the world consists of Unerträglichkeit. The fact that we cope with the Unerträgliche is the life- and misery- and pain-experience of everyone. A few ironic elements in each person is the only substance, everything else is defamation.
On many days nature is nothing but reportage while the brain is a feuilleton expression in nature. T.B.
First of all, love, is a joint experience between two persons - but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the 2 people involved. There are the lover and beloved - often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored up love which has lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. Feels in the soul that love is a solitary thing. Comes to know a new strange loneliness and it is this knowledge that causes suffering, so there is only one thing for the lover to do - must house their love within self the best they can; must create a whole new inward world - a world intense and strange, complete in oneself.
Maybe, shit too - maybe the easiest way of making a town’s acquaintance - balls! - is to ascertain how the people in it work - how they LOVE, and how they DIE. Camus.
Took paths - safe in changeability - because I mistook perspective for essence - just a part of essence - maybe. Shit, I spent some cash to go where plants look different and the shape of women’s faces look different (likely - not guaranteed because those genetic things are incalculably complicated to account for.) I got drunk - sunsets fulfilled expectations - not later I see. Underachiever, my balls hurt, think balls when need work, inadequate compensate for work when I need my balls. I’d love to see some people again. I had a dream about two of my grandparents during this exhibit. From different parents grandparents. Mom’s dad, dad’s mom. Same age. Both in same dream. There was an uneasy and self lacking homecoming feel. Stress or I’ve missed something.
Oh my stars and guarders. Shiiiaaaat.
World’s major languages series number 1#:
Very symmetrical phoneme inventory; lost most of the inflectional morphology characteristic of its relatives; very complicated system of combining tense and aspect markers for signifying Generic, Specific, Definite, Indefinite, Topical, etc properties -- OR -- the Erker Corner, with a rug and three windows, from which staring inside are people I worry I might have insulted, from the left One on purpose, long ago when I was ruder, from the center One by accident, because I was drunk or just not thinking before speaking, and from which other is staring inside a copy of all the factors that make me not want to do anything, any work - nothing - OR - hot apartment on a street in a boring part of the city where alternation of being alone and not doesn’t coincide with needs of my nerves and attitude.
When I was a fucking kid we used to burn garbage in a barrel / in the backyard, plastic and cans and everything went in. I used to roast marshmallows and hotdogs over the fire.
Shifts in the symbolic meaning of eating and sexuality. Von Der Hausmannskost zur Feinschneckerei: The disposition of the inward led person to eating portrays many variations of course. In the most recent American past, it’s different of course among the foodies of other nations - puritan and non puritan circles combine the meals with their social agendas. For invites to homes or inns there were somewhat irregular menus, what stood out were particularly uppity meat dishes, generous sides, and rich accoutrements. This was all in the women’s corner; in many circles it was rude to make eating table conversation. David Riesman, aahh yeah bitches, give it up. The comfort culture coming at you. Shiiiit.
Is working an Identity? or / work to do outside work did they do that outside work - Love did it let them be sexually human? Die? Shit IDK - not past perfect (imperfect) discussed yet. Yoooo I want sexual things with other people.
Ya, tether-pole reasoning. Misleading in 2 ways - first, the ball appears to fly free for awhile- 2nd, when the rope’s limit does force change, the movement and direction appears unpredictable due to direction velocity speed or what - a physicist could account for and explain but who listens to a goddamned fucking physicist - the change in speed direction velocity is in any case being influenced, bound by, a dogmatic pole -a fuck-stain pole - all faulty ill reasoning in administration, proprietary practice, the whole driving of social whatever is an analogy to tether-pole reasoning. Bite my nads.
Mich schmerzt die Balls
You must want to fuck me. Why no sir I don’t. Well then lay the sprockets bare.
You must be a post-modernist. Why no I’m fucking not, I express myself materially.
You must be kind of pretentious you bitch. Well maybe but I do like literary arts and an uncannily special meal occasionally.
There’s one area where is more advanced than the adult the child. (if most adults aren’t at this stage, at least the important ones are): it’s the situating of oneself relative to the other being - WHEN IT´S SUFFERING. Whereas the kid in this respect either feels (almost always) Schadenfreude, or some primitive benevolence, which is nice and shit, but is in no way of substantial value. Could also be a few other positions: nursery self importance, ie vanity; and fear, especially when the misfortune hits an adult. But what’s missing in the child is the only social position that exists: to rationalize yourself in the other. And in the other important things (art, intellect - (INTEGRITY), invention, work methods) the child is on par with the adult. Only in the above-said is it lacking. L.H.
The tools a human is ausgestattet with to tell if another is lying - let alone that - even more disingenuous with propositions, utterances - even more - attitudes, postures, indications - the latter few proposed measurable examples here of course not necessarily implying intention from the observed - so fuckin again! - the human is not equipped to discern this shit. The senses were meant for survival - indicating that bc the above-said don’t work, then its bullshit. Don’t worry - you’ll get your relationship, soul mate, laid, friend, what-fucking-not. But stop trying to read people - it’s a game for psychologists’ reading distraction - and even they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.
A fucker. A fucker. Some fucker. At a certain point, you see, feel, biologically instinctively feel, not merely rationally feel, your limits. What used to be could-be´s without accountability, they disappear quite suddenly, as irrational impossibilities. It’s kind of functionally helpful, the ridding of what’s unrealistic - but it’s also a flat-panicky shock to a human’s self centered system. Your former creations, experiences, which at one time seemed seminal, predestined, paradigmatic - now they’re exposed as random phenomena, data in an organism’s incidental existence. Tracey Emin said something to this effect on turning 50. I figured it out at 45 - she probably did too but just said it in her interview later, about being 50. It’s a rounder number.
A future present reference to a future past phenomenon is, for reasons I don’t care to move myself to figure out, logically impossible -- consequently hope, dreams, don’t exist. Is why later life evaluation of past, young, imaginations, assumptions, plans and the type of shit - that’s why its all so flat, empty, unsatisfied, per F.N.: The fruits of youth are gathered in later life -but that precipitates thoughts of autumn in a spirit that wanna live in spring forever - But an eternal bud yields no fruit of thought labor. - Is naught but to wither.
The plea "It was none of us men did this wicked deed, but one of our young female prisoners" was hardly one which could be submitted to a jury.
When people bring me presents I think Ahhh shiiat - I work with words not materials.
No, a farm humid morning won;t do it anymore – won’t work. If it’s so - what? Now, you know, that....
I don’t want him to go I really don’t like him. The fucker. I must not have thought of you (an Sie) in a long time, but what’s that mean? Thinking about someone, it’s either involuntary, in which case it means something substantial; or it’s for myself.
OK, geriatric commercials on TV during an old show from the 80s - not old to you - and the geriatric ads, these ones anyway, weren’t on back then. Why does it make me feel comfortable? Because gives a sense of permanence, stability. But no one really wants to get old. I guess you’re gonna, so you comfort yourself with compensations geared for the inevitable.
“The price is high when you keep the score” – that’s some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song, the line popped into my head the other morning on the bus on Myrtle Avenue. It struck me immediately as the kind of proverb which, while it might or might not have high one-to-one proverb-to-life value, is super functional and drives multiple components of a life plan. It wasn’t until the next day that I was embarrassed by my mistake, it’s just a combination of 2 clichés into a novel relational arrangement which in this case created an idea with such high generative power and low precision that it’s barely even a proposition. It’s the typical crap from pop songs and, if not for the lack of Ph.D.-level aesthetics words, artists’ statements. My judgment must’ve gotten tangled in the confusion – the sun was coming up behind Myrtle and flooding downtown Brooklyn and all the lame new buildings that weren’t there when I moved in and creating a visible span between them and the old structures that have been there the whole time, and the recently renovated facades and newly empty lots; it sent me in a spiral of nostalgia and regret, typically a good despair-making brew though this time it didn’t get to me that much. Still, I did run back through the unconnected reasoning, the irresponsible and the lazy decisions, failures to secure or to finish, dread, lack of determination, indolence and self-induced lethargy, in general the lack of respect for the severe effects of time and impermanence; then also the insensitivity, the assumptions, close-minded self-assurance, cowardice, the spots I’ve painted myself into. I assumed that I’ve taken care of a good number of these issues partially, probably none of them completely; there’s a few of these issues I’ll never fix. When some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song pop into your head, the right thing to do is take them strictly for what they are – some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song – and don’t stop to think about them.
A: I’ll tell you what - all this delineation of types of care, love - facets of empathy - that’s far too discreet, unnaturally chipped, for the nature of life, humans, physics, and biology. Modernists had it in art then lost it with their discourse. Post-modernists too. What’s the use - all a waste.
B: As for appropriate-level I’m not making judgments, only giving info based on my perception of customary behavior. We all gotta die sometime - but at this moment, No
From a distance betrachtet, it’s all imbued by your psychological history’s hue. But, up close, all unmasked, like everything else - people sell fish, sex each other, and print photos or other such things onto various physical substances - and the typical other shit we do - much more real than psych imagination but more boring.
Those who have no clue about literature and haven’t read anything, might not be so bad - but those that got no clue about literature and have read a lot...[unfinished].
The greatest property of a wise writer is that they don’t talk about their work too much
Whoever says "why" more than 3 times in a row is either Socrates or an idiot
And, in the greater scheme of things: if you only do something in order to do something else - it’s not useful to you
The people that ain’t got no taste gladly emphasize that there are many kinds of taste. What do they think, this kind of observation can be useful to them?
Only moments of [nearness?] exist.
What Hamsun and Lawrence have in common is they both believed themselves to be thinkers, but put out senselessness, as long as they left a narrow space of their particular strengths. In this respect Hamsun is purer. Lawrence is more essential.
Of the holy festivals, the only one that’s still holy is Fasching.
A fucker who hasn’t considered death, their life isn’t worth much.
An intellectual says a word, the pharmacists hear it, it confuses them, and they say something similar which is totally different.
My father had seen Ungenach as a prison. Everything was changed here. My guardian, even more my stepmother, is changing everything.Ungenach is becoming an immorality.
So, the park is empty. My room is, fatally, unchanged.
"Tragedies that are unnecessary" if one could only call them tragedies! [unreadable text]
In most faces there’s nothing but stupidity - and in all these faces, stupidity can be intuitive or seen or understood as something other than stupidity.
Can I leave you my key.
Job in an office work at night, blinds pattern against city in a chair doesn’t have a lower back legs-ish thing - can get stoned, your experience and settings - memories will save you and what you lost well for 20 years ish then it calculates as waste. Ah shit.
Sexism or sage-prejudicism? You make the call. She can’t have that much fun sexually AND be competent in such an important job. Biological-cultural injustice - or some such psychological nonsense.
I’m old enough to know - if you stand back from a spiral it turns into a circle.And if you need to know more it’s a spiral again when you get close again. Only a dogmatic war monger or a kid doesn’t know that. And fuck you, you dicker.
DH Lawrence believed (should be emphasized that he, unlike others that fell into a similar intellectual direction towards end of their lives, was totally honest) - he believed that power and certain-conditions-fulfilling-coitus (a fancy way to say fuck) alone could save a person. (That all else is not true life).
The enemy is the effect of the old familiar struktur. When the old structure is dissolved then you can recognize a fucker that has something to say.
Is it? No. Peanut butter, gross. Creepy - no everybody wants some. Idea the essence the experience not delivers, Abuse? No.
Warm straight windless rain. A last errand - future. Time remaining. An imagination can come experience. Impossible, failure later.
It’s all about the base, about the base.
Hi Guy, my name is Gleen. I like to keep my peter clean.
A cross and my ass hurts.
A Lithuanian cross - a fucker named Skuadas that plays football, HS, in mid America - I have to decide whether to send kid Am Skuadas to defend his ancestors from Putin - or not? An unreal dilemma - I’m old enough to know.
Used a rational process to create and assert what I believe. When the clock’s run down then what to do? Makes me wanna give up on rationality but that’s what I deduced I believe.
Sembiotics in my ass.
Lying like a fuck.
5 days after Murphy’s disappearance on Dec.3 1956, Tanto visited the U.S. consulate and arranged Visas for his father, Vicente de la Maze, and his young sister Olag.
Without explaining the cause of the patient’s wound... or even IDing him, the 2 men were halfway back to Juan Toḿas´s house when they realized they had left Mirito the driver at the clinic.
Material restrictions for the arts don’t exist, since the material in and of itself has no importance; the essence of art is something completely different, and the material never holds dialogue with it.
To have an idea of the nature of everything, a solid and fixed idea, you have to be a total dumb fuck.
They say he has no more love; that he, since he doesn’t want to suffocate in a Köhlerhütte two meters wide, has lost love. But isn’t there any love outside anymore?
The characteristic traits of the _______ are: exactness, stinginess, and ugliness. Exactness - to be taken as specific kinds of industriousness that thrive in _______ : then the mail - it’s everywhere, but in _______ is also reliable. Stinginess: which, of course, leads to the greatest exuberance of a being. Ugliness: only recognizable when you’re coming from another country. The country is rocky, unfertile, narrow, without ocean.
An endeavor of many people: comparing a dynamo machine with a field.
The pharmacist had read almost nothing that has any value. But so that a certain harmony isn’t lacking, the small amount of valuable work he did read he didn’t understand.
What is a dignitary? Someone who carries dignity positively and as a burden? Or only a rack that people hang dignications on - ones they no longer need - like old clothes?
Who has yet spoken sufficiently of nearness and people?
When people bring me presents, I think: I work with words, not material. Aaah Shiaat.
In the tone of a party-subscriber for my own person of course - everything is incomprehension. because nothing can be made comprehensible anymore, where nothing is naturally logical anymore, which is why I can’t sleep anymore.
What’s exciting, says Moro, to dunk your head in physics, then in metaphysics and so alternatively in the physical and then in the metaphysical way to get old and deteriorate.
In most faces there’s nothing but stupidity and in all those faces stupidity is to be seen, perceived, understood as something other than stupidity.
Take it. Don’t give - take.
Cock and balls with diamonds.
Thank god that you wasn’t there, said grandma. In the middle of the night - three of em. They wanted our motor bike jackets. Thank god it’s all in the past, said grandpa. They said I was the leader, but I didn’t want to do it. What? Asked P. That they all died, yelled grandpa. All 11 boys the youngest was 10 the oldest was 13. Only that I made it all the way to the English. But the youngest was 11 the oldest was 13. A fucker on TV with black hair put on a blonde wig and kissed a fucker with red hair.
And bite my nads - [unreadable] Field - road, washed over the Bosch of the tar covering the previous. A flood had washed out a massive chunk together with the runways lined with ground lights, darker than other facilities of civilization. How dark such an airport can be.
Bernhard, Thomas. Ungenach
Bobrowski, Johannes. Erzählungen.
Böll, Heinrich. Gruppenbild mit Dame
Camus, Albert. The Plague (original title: La Peste)
Diederich, Bernard. Trujillo: the Death of the Goat
Petriak, Nina. Ein Sonntag (in Dückers, Tanja & Carl, Verena (eds).. Stadt.Land.Krieg
Herlihy, James Leo. Ich und dieser Berry-Berry (original title: All Fall Down)
Hölderlin, Friedrich. Das Angenehme dieser Welt
Hohl, Ludwig. Notizen oder Von der unvoreiligen Versöhnung
Hughes, Richard. A High Wind in Jamaica
Faulkner, William. Light in August.
Frisch, Max. Mein Name sei Gantenbein.
Handke, Peter. In einer dunklen Nacht ging ich aus meinem stillen Haus.
McCullers, Carson. The Ballad of the Sad Café: and other stories
Musil, Robert. Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften II: aus dem Nachlaß
Naipaul, V.S. A House for Mr Biswas
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Werke in drei Bänder. Dritter Band (from the Diaries)
Regener, Sven. Herr Lehmann
Riesman, David. Die einsame Masse: eine Untersuchung der Wandlungen des
amerikanischen Charakters (original title: The Lonely Crowd: a Study of the
Changing American Character)
Singer, Isaac Bashevis. Feinde : die Geschichte einer Liebe